


my old man is a bad man (but i can’t deny the way he holds my hand)

by okayantigone



Series: the iron father, the daddy and the spider son [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adorable Peter Parker, Boyfriends in love, Cuddles, Fluff, Good Boyfriend Wade Wilson, M/M, Protective Dad Tony Sark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16077692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: Wade and Peter have a chill night in, while Wade ruminates over the implications of their relationship.





	my old man is a bad man (but i can’t deny the way he holds my hand)

**Author's Note:**

> you don't need to have read the other work int he series, but there's a few allusions to it in this story. basically, wade didn't realize how young peter is, until tony stepped in to give him the shovel talk.

There’s someone in his apartment. 

That’s the first thing through his head. Someone is in his apartment, so he reaches for the gun under his pillow and listens. The blackout curtains are keeping the light out of the room, but he’s used to navigating dark spaces. 

The person in his apartment rummages around for a bit. He can hear shuffling footsteps, the unmistakeable open-and-shut of the door of the fridge, and then the loud startled yelp when the person – Peter – by the high pitched sound of the voice – drops the Taco Bell burrito bowl. 

Wade relaxes, puts the gun back where it was and leaves the bed. His last payment just went to the New York LGBT homeless youth shelter, so he’s a bit behind on his heating bill, sleeping as he does in a thick hoodie and flannel pants. 

He pads barefoot to the kitchen, where Peter is scooping the mass back in the plate, obviously fully intending to eat stil. 

“Petey?” 

He’s still half in his suit, but his mask is gone. He is smiling that sweet lopsided smile. 

“Hi, Wade!” he greets brightly, and before he can move, Wade finds himself with an armful of beautiful boy. Peter nuzzles his scarred cheek and kisses the corner of his ruined mouth. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Peter says cheerfully. From anyone else it would be an accusation. But Peter, who doesn’t have a bad bone in his body, is physically incapable of being snide and mean and suspicious of the people he loves. “So I thought I’d drop by. Did I wake you up?” 

“Uh, yeah. Kinda. Don’t worry about it,” Wade says. 

“Aw, I’m sorry Wade,” Peter kisses his cheek again and turns to the microwave. 

Wade pulls the plate from his hands. “You can’t eat that, it was on the ground. Plus, I’m not actually sure how long ago I bought it.” 

He scrapes the sad remnants of the burrito bowl into the trash. He knows exactly when he bought it. He’d needed to fortify himself after Tony Stark accosted him, and in not so many words promised to use him for torturous medical experimentation if he ever mistreated Peter. Which had been precisely why he was avoiding the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. 

“Come on. Let’s get to the computer, and we can order something else.” 

“I can order on my own. Don’t you wanna go back to bed?” Peter gives him pretty wide eyes. Wade ruffles his hair fondly. 

“Nah. I’m awake now anyway.” 

He meanders to the sofa, shoves a stack of comic books off it and sits down, patting the cushion next to him. Peter has other ideas. The spidersuit – which really should have been a dead giveaway – that sleek silhouette was definitely Stark tech, disassembles gracefully around him, and Peter, clad in obscene yoga pants and a soft science-pun tee, climbs up in Wade’s lap, settling against his chest with a content little noise. 

He’s either feeling frisky – which – not terrible – or he’s just feeling cuddly – which also – a great way for the night to go. 

“Are there any places that even deliver this late?” Peter mumbles in the thick material of Wade’s hoody. He’s drawn the hood string into his mouth, chewing at it absent-mindedly. 

“Sure. Dopinder’s doing a stint as an Uber Eats driver now.” 

“Oh,” Peter says. “Cool.” 

He’s loose limbed and exhausted, snuggling into Wade’s arms. 

Fifteen. He is fifteen. Although in Wade’s defence he hadn’t known – he still winces as that, because he should have asked, he thought Spiderman was just a young-faced college kid. He talked about “school” and “science project”, and Wade had been hesitant to pry – the kid was a superhero, after all, and clearly wore the mask for a reason. And the Stark Internship was advertised for college kids. He’d just assumed. It made sense for the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman to be just a bright-eyed freshman – it showed in his every mood, in the way he talked. 

Really, he should have known better, and asked. It was his job as the assumed older party. 

“Can we get chilly cheese balls?” Peter asks while thumbing through his most recent online food orders to pick and choose whatever he’s currently craving. 

“Whatever you want, baby,” Wade says, valiantly letting an opportunity for a cheese balls joke go in light of the fact that his arms are full of an exciteable teenager. Jesus. A teenager. 

Peter hadn’t even told him his name until after their fifth rooftop date. Which was also, coincidentally, the Dumpster Blowjob Incident, when Wade had been too turned on to think with his proper brain, and was instead thinking with his Down Below Brain, managing just enough command of the English language to ask “So what name do I get to call out?” 

And his boy had looked up at him, his mouth red and puffy, spit slick lips, and eyes impossibly big, thick lashes fluttering, and mumbled with a soft why blush “Peter.” 

Like somehow, speaking his name out was more shameful and embarrassing than rutting against Wade’s foot while sucking him off like his life depended on it. 

“Peter,” Wade had repeated, tasting the name on his lips. And then that gorgeous mouth was on him again, and Peter, who apparently had no gag reflex, swallowed him down, and then Wade hadn’t done a whole lot more of the thinking thing. 

Peter was done ordering half the online menu of the local fried chicken shop. Wade confirmed his card details and sent the order off, and then suddenly, Peter was on him, his slender legs straddling Wade’s hips. 

“We have thirty to forty-five minutes to delivery.” He punctuates it with a roll of his hips. 

“Have a thought of how you want to spend them, do you?” Wade can’t help grinning. “Insatiable boy.” 

They don’t end up doing much more than making out on the couch, with Wade sucking bruises into Peter’s soft pale throat, and watching in wonder as they heal. Peter’s healing factor is faster and stronger than his. Peter is physically stronger than him. And yet when they’re like this, just the two of them, Spiderman – powerful, cocky, and unflinching – melts into Wade’s sweet, shy boy who wants to be held, and praised and kissed. It’s almost too much. 

Peter whispers a soft, breathless “Daddy” and Wade has never been more grateful for Dopinder’s bad timing. Normally, he’d be making wisecracks about getting cockblocked by cheese balls, but this time – god. This time it’s great. 

Because being called “daddy” is no longer just a fun kinky thing that he likes to indulge in. He is actually old enough to be Peter’s father. And they’re going to have to talk about it eventually. 

He settles an arm around Peter’s shoulders and hand feeds him the cheese balls – once again refraining from making any untoward jokes about it, while Peter runs through his Netflix queue, and finally settles on the emotionally charged, stressful episode of Sugar Rush. 

“Oh, idiot! The frosting will never work on the Victoria sponge! You have to use fondant!” Wade calls out, his mouth full of delicious, greasy chips. 

“Come on,” Peter agrees, “It’s like he wants to be eliminated. He doesn’t have time to flambé the pears into the champagne!” 

He pops the last of the oil-dripping chicken into his mouth, and polishes it off with a sip of Wade’s soda, then gracelessly untangles himself from Wade’s arms, and throws the empty cartons in the trash. 

“Bed?” he asks, his eyes sweet, and warm and welcoming. 

Something beneath Wade’s painful skin feels too tender for words. 

He nods and makes the effort of standing up from the sofa, meandering back to the messy bedroom. He listens to the sounds of Peter in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. After so many nights over, he’s got a toothbrush in the cabinet. It’s next to Vanessa’s old makeup bag, that Wade can’t bear to part with just yet, and like the sweet, thoughtful ray of sunshine that he is, Peter has never asked Wade about it. 

He turns the light out, and listens to the sound of his boy’s footsteps in the dark. Peter crawls under the covers with a soft, happy noise. 

On a tip from Daredevil, Wade had invested in 100% silk bedsheets, and boy, did they make a difference, the cool material sliding over his skin, calming somewhat, the perpetual feeling of being on fire. It’s good for Peter too. From what Wade can gather from their brief conversations about their respective powers, Peter’s comes with a bad case of sensory processing feelings, including hypersensitivity and the occasional brain-shattering migraine. 

So the soft sheets and the 100% hypoallergenic sheep wool fluffy blankets are a nice addition to a bed that also has Peter in it. His lovely boy curls up against Wade’s chest instinctively drawing a finger into his mouth. 

Wade tightens his arms around his slender body, and closes his eyes too.


End file.
